


No Tea For Me

by Encyclopedianerdia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sherlock, First Kiss, Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Encyclopedianerdia/pseuds/Encyclopedianerdia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a Sherlock in John's bed. Sherlock is drugged up. The whole situation is very awkward.</p><p>John rather likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters (they do, however own various pieces of my soul.) Please feel free to comment what you think, or if I have made any mistakes. Thanks!
> 
> With all due respect,  
> ~encyclopedianerdia.tumblr.com

It felt oddly good.

Sure, Sherlock was only acting under the influence of too many nicotine patches. That didn't make having the man on top of him any less enjoyable.

"John," Sherlock had mumbled as he spilled in to John's bed. "Will you make me some tea, John? Sugars, two black."

His breathing became shallow. "I can't, Sherlock. You are on top of me."

"Teaaa, Johnny!" Sherlock nuzzled his face in to John's collarbone. "Yum yum yummy tea."

Licking his lips as he always did when nervous, John tried to slow down his breathing. "You don't know what you're doing. You get crazy when you use more than three of your nicotine patches. You are not really you, Sherlock."

"I'm me. Who else would I be? I rhymed," the sociopath giggled. "John?"

"Yes?" He swallowed.

Sherlock giggled a second time. "I think I love you."

No, he didn't. He couldn't. It was just the drugs talking.

"I can hear your thoughts. You often think far too loudly," Sherlock stated. "And I mean it. I really, truly love you. My John."

The situation was too much for him to handle. "Why don't you get off me, Sherlock? I can go make you some tea."

"Don't want to. I want to stay right here with you. Forever." One of Sherlock's hands made its way in to the blond hair. He tugged, sending a shiver down John's spine.

"Sherly... Sherly..."

Sherly turned his face ever so slightly, angling his lips towards John's. A line of fire formed on his skin wherever Sherlock's touched him.

"I'm a doctor. You could use something hot. Let me up, and I'll make you some t-eeeaaa..." John's word turned in to a sigh when he found his flat mate's lips upon his own.

"This is much better for me than tea."

John couldn't help but concede.

"Does this mean you like me?" Sherlock's large, green eyes bore in to John's with anticipation.

"No," replied John, "It means I love you."

Sherlock's face fell a bit before the ex- army doctor's words sunk in. A wide smile spread across his face.

*

John was alone in the bed when he woke up. He had slept amazingly despite the fact that there had been a dead-weight Sherlock crushing him all night. He walked out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen. Sherlock was there, sipping the cup of tea he had demanded and then refused the night before.

"John."

"Sherlock."

How awkward. John didn't know quite what to do with himself. Should he kiss Sherlock good morning? Should he leave? Should he simply pretend that the best night of his life had never happened?

"We have a case today. Eat quickly."

John decided on the third option. Sherlock was acting normally- for Sherlock.

Bread and jam. Nothing special, but John's stomach hurt. He couldn't help but think Sherlock had probably just been experimenting on him again.


	2. Sherlock

He cursed himself.

Sherlock had covered himself in nicotine patches the previous night. He knew how mental he got with more than three. He was too cowardly to face John, so he overdosed.

He had meant to confess his feelings towards his best friend, but instead Sherlock had woken up on top of the embarrassed-looking doctor. "Oh shit," he panicked. Sherlock rarely swore. He really, really did not want to know what he had done.

Going about his normal business, Sherlock was relieved when John followed suit. He did look a bit down during breakfast, but Sherlock was just glad that he hadn't done anything too stupid.

That day's case was extremely easy. Most of Sherlock's brain was left to consider the real problem at hand; what to do about John. Sherlock had failed to pick up John, for lack of a better term.

They walked back to 221b in silence. "I could do it now. Just- lean over and kiss him," But that would be too forward. John would not react well. If Sherlock was going to do this drug-free, it had to be at the perfect time, knowing John would react favourably.

"What are you thinking about, John?"

John's face coloured a bit. "I wasn't thinking about anything."

"On the contrary. You think so little, I can always tell when you actually are," Sherlock granted John a small smile so that he didn't sound too harsh.

"I guess I was thinking about... Last night."

Ah. That explained the blush. "Let's not talk about that," Sherlock did not particularly want to discuss the awkward way in which he had spent the night.

John looked down. "Oh. Okay."

Sherlock shrugged off John's reaction as the man having unanswered questions about Sherlock's behaviour.


	3. John

Sherlock had said that he did not want to talk about THAT night. John felt disgusting, for letting Sherlock use him like that. He began to draw away from his friend, and Sherlock didn't even seem to notice.

"Too easy. Nothing challenges me, John."

He didn't reply.

"It was his wife who killed him. See his left forefinger? Combine that with her history of running red lights, and it's simple, really."

John would never know how those two seemingly random facts connected. He was very fidgety in Sherlock's presence. He wished he could wake up, and find that this had all been a terrible nightmare. He desperately wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, clichéd as it sounded. Sherlock was not really his best friend any more. More like that ex that you kept on pretending to be friends with. Even though they'd never really been together. "That's just too bad, now isn't it Sherlock?"

"What is with you lately?" Sherlock snapped. "You're acting like I killed your best friend."

In a way, he had.

"Am I not your best friend, John?" You're mine. My only friend. And do you know what?" He didn't give John any time to answer. "I am completely stereotypical."

John gave him a quizzical look.

"I fell in love with my best friend."

*

Sherlock had some nerve. To kiss him, act like nothing had happened, and then profess love all over again. "I hope you got the desired result! I hope I proved your hypothesis!" John sang out to what he thought was an empty flat.

"There was no hypothesis. What are you taking about?" Answered Sherlock.

"Don't pretend you don't know."

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows together and stuck out his lower lip. "I really don't."

"You said you loved me, Sherlock! And I said it back... I was stupid. Because then you ignored me."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "I only said that an hour ago. You're the one who left me hanging! I've been planning for weeks to tell you, but you've gone and ruined it."

"You said it a week ago, and acted as if nothing happened. You acted as if you didn't steal my heterosexuality. And my heart. It HURTS, Sherlock." A look of intense pain crossed John's face.

"I- what? No, I didn't. I didn't."

John shot him a death glare. "At exactly 10:31 last Tuesday night. You were covered in nicotine patches. I thought it was just the drugs talking, but you insisted it wasn't. Even a kiss to shut me up, and to convince me. I stupidly decided to believe you."

"I did? No, it's not possible... But all I remember was waking up on top of you. I figured I had acted like I was very very drunk, and you had helped me."

John smiled a bit at that. "Oh, you did. I suppose if you don't remember... Let me show you." He took the consulting detective's hand, and lead him in to his bedroom.

"I was lying on my bed, reading, like this; then you staggered in and fell on top of me," Sherlock didn't move. "What are you waiting for? Fall on top of me."

Sherlock gave John an imploring look. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes."

So Sherlock complied. "Now what?"

John explained about the tea.

"Tea? Will you make me some tea, John?"

"Johnny. You called me Johnny."

Sherlock looked mortified. "You're making that up."

He shook his head. "Nope."

Sherlock begged for tea. "Are you happy now?" He whimpered.

John made him relive the entire painful conversation. "And then I offered to make you some tea one last time... And you kissed me." Expectantly waiting, John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back. They leaned together in unison, and their lips met.

"You know, I think I knew, deep down, that I would never be able to keep up the 'not gay' façade." He said when they came up for air.

Sherlock grinned. "I knew you wouldn't. Every single sign... You had them all. When you saw me, your pupils dilated. Your palms dampened, and your breathing quickened. Your eyes lingered on me for a fraction of a second too long. I doubt even you noticed it, apart from the sweating."

"So... You were watching me too?"

Scoffing, Sherlock explained that "It only took me two seconds to deduce those facts. You know me well enough to know that. Still... Maybe."


	4. Sherlock

"I really am sorry, John."

John knew he was sorry. "It's okay. Really, Sherlock, it is."

They were doing quite a bit of reassuring each other. After the initial confusion, it was understandable. Sherlock was simply glad that their relationship existed. And that John was no longer embarrassed to be gay. "They all want us to be together, anyways," he had reasoned the day before.

Except Molly, of course. She was just as in love with Sherlock as John was. But Molly loved him enough to want him to be happy, and John made him happy. She didn't.

The ex-army doctor, his ex-army doctor, smiled. "After all, if our relationship started with you on drugs and myself depressed, it couldn't possibly get any worse."

"Don't jinx it!" Sherlock giggle-yelled at his partner. "Knock on wood."

John rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

He got an elbow to the ribs. "You know you love me."

"Care to test that theory?"

They kissed again, their third time. The second that Sherlock could remember. It still felt amazing, perfect, unbelievable.

"John, I know you've kissed other people. I've seen you," John went to defend himself, but Sherlock held up his hand to show that he wasn't mad. "I wasn't your first, but I fully intend to be your last."

John's hair was so soft, god was it soft. So was his skin. John was soft. Like a giant, good-looking teddy bear.

When did Sherlock start thinking like that? He should have been calculating the exact acidic level that would cause John's skin to be that texture. It was like he had always said; emotion clouds your judgement and defies logic.

The truly odd thing, however, was that Sherlock didn't mind.


End file.
